


A Spoonful of Sugar

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Dark Magic, Dorks in Love, Fluff and Angst, Geralt saving Jaskier's ass again, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mages, Mutual Pining, Rescue, Rituals, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: "Jaskier?" Geralt called, exploring the thicket of forest near their camp. They had settled down for the evening and the obnoxious bard had insisted on helping him gather wood for their campfire. That was over half an hour ago and the silence, albeit welcoming, was a troubling sign to the Witcher.Geralt sighed heavily, taking a moment to follow the bard's tracks in the absence of his mouth running. With no other way to find the man, he had to work with the basics. His amber eyes flicked across the landscape as he trailed the Bard's footsteps and picked apart his activities over the last half an hour.Which consisted of him walking in circles, sitting on an old stump where he peeled the bark off of the sticks he had gathered like some wayward daydreaming village girl plucking petals off daisies. He then rose from his stump and- dammit!----------Geralt has to save Jaskier - again!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 41
Kudos: 1209





	A Spoonful of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> So this was inspired by a line from the Witcher 3 game that Geralt says to Morkvarg but I really wanted to see him say that same line to Dandelion/Jaskier just because he's a little shit and trying to lighten the mood a bit. This is my first time writing for these characters (the t.v ones) so please bare with me. 
> 
> Also there is a Witcher discord if anyone is interested in joining. Its for all media types involving The Witcher and the link for the server will be at the end of the fic.

"Jaskier?" Geralt called, exploring the thicket of forest near their camp. They had settled down for the evening and the obnoxious bard had insisted on helping him gather wood for their campfire. That was over half an hour ago and the silence, albeit welcoming, was a troubling sign to the Witcher.

Geralt sighed heavily, taking a moment to follow the bard's tracks in the absence of his mouth running. With no other way to find the man, he had to work with the basics. His amber eyes flicked across the landscape as he trailed the Bard's footsteps and picked apart his activities over the last half an hour.

Which consisted of him walking in circles, sitting on an old stump where he peeled the bark off of the sticks he had gathered like some wayward daydreaming village girl plucking petals off daisies. He then rose from his stump and- _dammit!_

Geralt cursed under his breath when the idle actions turned into the shuffled steps and upturned soil in a charade of a struggle. Branches were broken and snagged, brush twisted and uprooted where Jaskier's feet had been dragged. The heels of his shoes tearing at the earth. The sticks had been scattered in a haphazard pile where he'd been subdued and his attacker, another man wearing boots with a prominent heel, had taken him off further into the woods.

Geralt drew his steel sword, fingering the hilt in anticipation as he tracked the path up over a hill and near a river embankment. From the crest of the hill, he could see the smoke of a small campfire tucked near the water. A seemingly abandoned fisherman's shack stood like a lone sentinel overlooking the water. The old nets and wooden stands were rotting away, tangled over by vines and undergrowth creeping in from the woods towards the water's edge. A narrow foot path had been sloppily chopped away, branches and bushes hacked at by a dull weapon and raked over to the edges of the walkway that curled around the water's edge towards the hill.

From here, Geralt could see movement by the shack. A dark robed figure shuffled back and forth in anxious pacing around the fire, head hung as they focused on their tasks, moving small rotting stands and tables around in the sand. As the Witcher cut down through the path, creeping slowly towards the shack, he spotted Jaskier sprawled in the sand tucked off to the side in the shadows of the shack. An old net had been cast over him, the heavy weights lining the edges secured him in place. Geralt neared slowly, spying the pallor of his face and the way his eyelids fluttered in fitful sleep.

Two empty vials were lying beside him, half buried in the sand where they have been hastily uncorked and tossed aside. A soft milky color settled at the bottom of the glass. Geralt ease his way closer to inspect one with a brief whiff of the vial under his nostrils. 

"A potion." He mumbled to himself, taking a moment to assess the notes of the plants used in it. Some hints were familiar. Nightshade for paralysis and Lavender for sleep. There was a strong bitter odor of alcohol unlike any kind he had encountered. It was pungent to breath in, making his nostrils burn from the harshness of its notes. He wrinkled his nose and set the vial aside, turning his attention to the oblivious robed figure mumbling gibberish to themselves.

Geralt wasn't pleased to see the ritualistic circle the man- a mage- was making in the sand. Candle wax painted on a wooden surface with stones etched with intricate runes marking the focal points. A bowl of blood was set aside as the mage dipped their fingers into it and started painting strange symbols on the wood and then upon themselves. Their attention turned towards Jaskier but was met instead with a cold snarl from the Witcher.

"Step aside mutant!" The mage commanded harshly. "The bard shall be the immortal vessel for my greatest masterpiece yet! Singing lullabies of destruction as it rips apart the very land beneath our feet." He cackles, blind hysteria erupting as the mage flashed a wicked toothy grin. A mouth full of gnarled sharp teeth and eyes blackened by dark magic. His face was smeared in the streaks of blood he painted upon himself. His hood fell away to expose the jagged scarring and ridged flesh of a man slowly becoming a monster. Pale skin ashy and textured with the cold clammy appearance of a drowner.

"The bard is mine." Geralt spoke with a steely indifference. He leveled his sword on the mage in warning. "I'm taking him back."

"I shall not let you interrupt!" The mage hissed, lunging at Geralt with sharpened claws and wild eyed. A flash of energy launched from the mage's hands caught him off guard and sent the Witcher sprawling back into the sands. He recovered quickly, rolling out the momentum as he landed in a crouch and popped back up onto his feet. His blade raised just in time to parry another swipe from inhuman hands. Long bony appendages grew from the mage's grasp, distorted and bloodied by mutation as the twisted dark magic whirled around inside the mage. The punishment for every spell cast, every action chanted. His body was paying the ultimate price, a formidable penalty for his goals.

The mage was unbothered by his penance as he snarled and lunged like a beast provoked. Geralt angled his sword and swept around to catch another blow before it could hit, whirling the momentum as the edge of his weapon met soft tissue, rending limbs free from the decrepit body. He severed the mage's arms in a quick flurry of movement, calculated and precise. Blood splattered the beach as the mage spattered and spit crimson saliva at him. Large globules dribbled from his lips, darkened by a sickening miasma bubbling up from the mage's insides. A steady stream of putrid ichor before Geralt ended it with a clean decapitation. The cursed words never meeting the open air in the mage's final moments.

Geralt shook the blood off his blade, wiping it clean with the discarded robes before sheathing it on his back. His next concern shifted back on the bard in his fallen state of disarray. Jaskier hadn't moved a muscle the entirety of the fight. The continued silence was unnerving, causing him to approach with the sneaking sensation of cold dread curling in his stomach. Geralt couldn't decipher what all was inside the vials but he had a rough estimate on what the mage had been planning given the ritual's nature. That offered just enough context for him to combat the potion's effects, should he move quickly enough.

Geralt dragged the net off of Jaskier, taking a moment to search the bard for any obvious injuries before scooping him up into his arms. Despite his size, he was relatively easy to carry, like a small child tucked against the witcher's chest and appearing just as fragile when dwarfed by the sheer bulk of the man. Geralt was hasty in his steps, climbing back up the hill and down the path towards their camp where Roach waited impatiently for their return.

A quick flick of his hand in the shape of igni as the campfire sprung to life with the warmth of the flames licking at Jaskier's skin. Geralt laid him down carefully beside the fire where their bedrolls had been placed. He made certain the bard's head was cushioned before moving to gather his pack from Roach's saddle to start a remedy for the potion's effects. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it would take the edge off the worst of the symptoms.

He crouched down beside the fire as he placed herbs into his mortar, adding a touch of strong alcohol and a bit of water as he ground it up into a slurry with his pestle. He strained the liquid out into a small vial, separating the pieces from the potion before placing a stopper in it. He shook it up for one final measure to insure it was mixed properly before shifting to Jaskier’s side. Geralt wrapped an arm around the bard’s shoulders to help him sit up properly, bracing his weight against the witcher’s chest as gave him a small shake and a firm rub of the knuckles against his sternum. When Jaskier didn’t flinch at the small pain inflicted upon him, Geralt sighed heavily and started the tedious task of trying to feed the bard the potion.

He placed the vial against his lips and urged small sips into his mouth at a time, massaging the man’s throat in small swipes of his fingers to urge the muscles to swallow the liquid properly. It took twenty minutes to get the whole vial into the bard’s stomach but it was satisfying by the end when the strange pallor lessened its grip on his appearance. Geralt gently guided Jaskier back down, adjusting him so he would be comfortable while he slept it off.

The witcher couldn’t help the knitted ball of concern that wound up tight in his stomach as he gazed at the bard’s motionless form. The subtle rise and fall of his chest, the minor discoloration of his skin and the bruising tracked around the back of his neck where the mage had grabbed him harshly. The dark blotches were coming in now, resembling the prints of malicious hands. The sinking twisting weight of guilt nestled into his chest, tight and unrelenting in its badgering. Jaskier was in danger and Geralt hadn’t noticed. Had he dallied a little longer, he would be recovering the bard’s corpse instead of nursing him back to consciousness. Or worse, had he waited and the mage were successful, he would have been forced to put his blade through Jaskier’s body. A feat he didn’t think he could manage should that ever come to pass.

His job is simple. His tasks are easy to act upon and carry out but their relationship has complicated everything up so much and Geralt was no longer so certain in his abilities when it came to Jaskier and his safety. If it ever came a time when the bard was on the other end of his blade, Geralt would sooner let the man rend his body to pieces than be forced to end his existence himself. He has enough blood on his hands from comrades. Jaskier’s would be the breaking point.

For all his snarling indifference towards the man, Geralt was no fool. They may say Witcher’s don’t _feel_ but the confusing beat of his heart when the bard sings his songs and gazes at Geralt so serenely, how can one call that rumour truth? Geralt could feel and he was certain what he felt for the bard went beyond friendly fondness and sociable tolerance. It was unlike the flickering infatuation that curled in his loins when he gazed upon the sorceress. Where that was secured by an impulsive need to express and relieve, Jaskier was beyond that. A desperate man clutching at the only shred of the world that actually sought him out for more than just _what he could do_ in return for coin. Jaskier was a friend, despite Geralt’s despisal of the word. _They weren’t friends._ No, they weren’t. Because Geralt wanted them to become something _more._ Something permanent and deep. Something a witcher could never really have because the Path was its own commitment and he was too afraid of what would befall the bard if he continued chasing him on this ridiculous journey.

Geralt dismissed the conflicting feelings worming in his chest like maggots through an necrophage’s dinner and decided to better distract himself with work around camp. His blades needed cleaning and sharpening, they needed more firewood and there was water that needed to be boiled for drinking. The idle relief that work offered was just enough to keep him busy until Jaskier started to wake in the late evening. He managed to find a rabbit while he was collecting supplies and cobbled together a sparse woodland stew from his rations and what little he could dig up in the woods.

Geralt was crouched stirring the stew in small circles, checking the tenderness of the meat and root vegetables he gathered when he heard the soft movement on Jaskier’s bedroll. He tossed a concerned glance over his shoulder, catching the bard’s weary eyes as they opened. A sickly groan warbled out of his chest as he curled up on his side, tucking in a tightly wound ball as his hands cradled his stomach.

“Geralt.” He rasped pathetically, baby blue eyes tilted up through heavily lidded eyes to gaze at the witcher. Geralt huffed a breathy sound of amusement as he turned towards Jaskier, settling down more completely at the bard’s side as he scooped up their refilled drinking pouch. He raised the tip to Jaskier’s lips as he offered the bard a few sips. Jaskier accepted with fingers curled around the neck of the leather pouch, urging more of the fresh water down his parched throat but Geralt stemmed the quantity with a firm hand.

“Easy Jaskier. You don’t want to overwhelm yourself.” He warned, a stern tone barely concealing the deep rooted concern that lie heavily beneath his syllables. When he drew the pouch away, Geralt brushed a gentle hand through the bard’s sweat dampened hair, caressing them out of his face as he inspected the smaller man for any further signs of affliction from the mage’s potion. He was pleased that his own had combatted the affects well enough, leaving only the mild discomfort of illness that was common for the fragile human body.

“What happened?” Jaskier asked, tucking himself back into his bedroll with a lingering shiver. His fingers plucking at the fringes nervously as he watched his friend return his attention to the fire, scooping out a portion of the stew into a bowl.

“You were abducted by a mage with the intention of using you for their ritual.” Geralt answered flatly, observing the way the bard’s features fell to disbelief before scrunching up in horror as he assumed what faint traces of memory he had of the incident were slowly weaving back to the forefront of his mind.

“Geralt-” He started, pushing himself upright only to stop partway feeling the world shift and sway around him. He closed his eyes and groaned, letting his head hang as the witcher shifted closer and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to steady him. “He forced me to drink something.” Jaskier breathed, a heavy exhale of air that was sucked right back in as he fended off the swooning dizziness that spun around him. His voice was cracked and pitiful as Geralt’s tender touch curled under his chin, forcing him to meet the witcher’s warm golden eyes. 

The enchanting spell of those eerie catlike eyes dragged him into a lull that toppled his thoughts. The gentle touch was warm under Geralt’s fingers, the firm press of the pads felt hot on his skin but was a welcome sort of warmth that made Jaskier lean into it. Before he even realized he was braced against Geralt’s side, his head resting quietly on the witcher's shoulder as he breathed through the nausea that curled in his stomach. His fingers weakly clutching to the witcher’s shirt front.

“Jaskier.” The deep rumble of the witcher’s voice was a soft tickle of warm air into his crown. It sent shivers rushing through him as he curled closer, a subtle shift of his body as the rolling waves of heat lapped against his side where the man made contact with him, a sun far more vibrant that the fire’s tamed flames. A golden touch, so delicate as it traced circles across his back in soothing motions. 

“You need to eat something.” Geralt murmured.

Jaskier shook his head in a slow refusal. The thought alone made his stomach clench and roll with repulsive bursts. His hand pressed against his belly as he felt the sickly gurgle in his guts. His fears struck through him, imagining them sliced open and strung about at the dagger tip of that crazed mage. He didn’t catch the ludicrous ravings the man was spouting when he’d been drugged, but the small snatches he managed were enough to fuel his nightmares for weeks to come.

“Jaskier.” Geralt urged, lifting the cooling bowl of stew within sight of the bard whose face paled with a grimace.

“I can’t.” He muttered.

“The potion you were fed and the one I used to counteract it will only make you feel worse if you don’t eat something. It needs to work out of your system and food speeds that up.” Geralt explained curtly, adjusting the bard with an easy strong grip on his shoulder. He adjusted them both so the bard was tucked into his lap with strong arms looped around him, bracing Jaskier’s weight against his chest.

“I don’t think I can stomach it.” Jaskier protested weakly but Geralt only shook his head in slow dismissal.”

“Won’t know unless you try. Com’n Jaskier, a spoonful for daddy.” The low rumble of immediate amusement in the witcher’s chest was nearly missed when Jaskier jolted upright and snapped his head around to catch the barely concealed cheeky smirk on Geralt’s face His blue eyes wide with disbelief that he had actually heard _the Geralt of_ fucking _Rivia_ say those exact words. _To him_ of all people!

Geralt held up the bowl of stew in offering. “Give it a try and I’ll stop pestering you.” He added.

Jaskier hesitantly accepted the bowl, staring suspiciously at the witcher and the shit eating grin that spread on his lips showing his too sharp of wolfish teeth. He looked like the big bad wolf about to get a nice meal after a long hunt. It only added to the unnecessary warmth now brewing in the base of his stomach and spreading down his loins. The potions must really be doing a number on his psyche because all of this seemed like some farfetched fever dream of his own wanton desires.

“Go on.” Geralt folded his arms expectantly, gazing down with those know-all, see-all amber eyes that watched Jaskier even in his dreams. The bard swallowed thickly, stooping his head down to inspect the stew, pushing the tender chunks of meat around with his spoon before settling for a small bite. It was delicious and the helping was small, a considerate gesture on Geralt’s part regarding Jaskier’s fragile disposition at the moment. He wasn’t a glutton but he certainly was no dainty bird when it came to meals.

Appearing satisfied with Jaskier’s quiet obedience for once, the witcher moved to gather his own helping from the fire and set the pot aside to rest in the warm embers. He replaced it with another pot to boil fresh water in for cleaning their utensils at the end of the evening. Jaskier picked at his food, feeling a bit better once he had something settling in his empty stomach, easing the nausea and dizziness that shadowed him like an unwanted ghastly phantom. The witcher settled back in the dirt, positioning himself beside the bard until they were nearly bumping elbows together as they ate.

Jaskier dared a moment of boldness as he pivoted and pressed their backs together, leaning back against the strong muscular sentinel that was his dear witcher. The low rumble that followed was a purr of approval Jaskier heard so rarely these days. A sound, in which he convinced himself was a rare note of satisfaction reserved only for his ears. Of course, much like his tales, that may have been a far flung over exaggeration but he could dream and hope, couldn’t he?

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, there is a Witcher discord you can join! It's called Toss A Coin To Your Witcher
> 
> https://discord.gg/kqUcxgT


End file.
